


Darkest Minds

by angelic_ly



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, detective!Ignis au, it's a murder story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelic_ly/pseuds/angelic_ly
Summary: Iris was the first to go, and Ignis would do everything in his power to prevent anyone else from following.





	1. Chapter 1

It was 5:51 AM when he arrived on the scene. Immediately people rushed to him. “Detective Scientia, Detective Scientia–” Their cries went mostly ignored. Ignis only picked out what was important, what he could gather of the situation until he could get his hands on the official report. As of that point, it all lacked anything meaningful, but he continued to sift through it as he followed them to the main point of the crime scene.

It was abnormal for him to be called out to the field without knowing the reason prior to arriving. He had been in the office sitting in the middle of stacks of paperwork that came up to his eyes. He was stressed enough as it was (and he was desperately trying to keep it out of his mood) and this excursion was taking away from his invaluable paperwork time. He clutched his can of Ebony tightly, the precious can of coffee taking the place of a person as the bearer of his agitation.

Ah, finally, some information of use.

There had been a murder sometime in the night. The killer had yet to be found. The victim was a young female, perhaps in her late teens, and she’d been shot in the head. The body had obviously been moved, but it seemed to be more to take it out of plain sight rather than to hide it.

“And her name?” Ignis asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Sir–”

“My god.”

Staring back up at him from the ground were the lifeless eyes of Iris Amicitia. He knelt beside her body, cursing profusely.

Gladio had mentioned that Iris had failed to come home the previous night, that she hadn’t been answering his calls, that worrying about her would drive him mad, but this – not her, not her, not Iris.

Ignis carefully ran a bare hand through her bloodied hair, his eyes stinging. His other hand drifted down and closed her eyes, allowing him to escape from her blank stare. He numbly wiped his hands on the handkerchief that was offered to him and stood, his chest feeling like it was collapsing in on itself and nearly exploding at the same time.

It felt like an out-of-body experience. Ignis watched himself rattle off orders and he watched the staff around him scramble to fulfill them. Iris’ body was placed in the standard bag (there wasn’t any other bag for the body, yet this still felt so wrong to him) and carted off for forensic examination. People milled about him, collecting data from the crime scene to file away for further investigation.

Ignis stood. And he couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t get his muscles to listen to him, couldn’t get his brain to process anything more than breathing and Iris Amicitia’s death.

His phone was ringing. The sound was so foreign against the ringing in his own ears. It took a gentle tap on his shoulder and a small, “Detective Scientia, your phone,” to snap him out of his reverie enough for him to answer it.

“Hello?” he said with the same measured tone he always used, even if he felt like he was dying.

“Hey, Igs,” Gladio’s voice rumbled on the other side of the line, and Ignis’ stomach dropped to his feet. “What’s this huge case everyone’s going on about?”

Ignis’ voice was hoarse. “You don’t know?”

“No?” Gladio sounded so confused, and Ignis hated it. “All I’ve heard is that there was a murder–”

“She’s dead, Gladio.” Ignis’ insides were twisting tight and coiling, choking his voice and his mind. He couldn’t think straight. It was Gladio on the other end of the line, and it was Iris who was in the bag–

“That’s typically what happens at a murder, Igs,” Gladio sounded uneasy.

“No,” Ignis forced out.

There was silence.

Gladio’s tone was level, but only barely, and Ignis knew – he could feel that there was an even worse storm brewing inside of his friend, to be barely concealed by those amber eyes. “Iris?”

“I’m sorry.”

And Ignis tried to deliver the news without allowing so much emotion into it, but this whole thing was ripping him to shreds, and the anguished sound that left the speaker did nothing to help him. Ignis wanted this feeling to pass already, he wanted this to be a nightmare. He wanted–

He wanted–

Ignis was still apologizing even after the line went dead. The phone buzzed next to his ear and he apologized to it, to the ground, to the rising sun.

He wanted this to be over. He wanted to forget how death looked on Iris’ face, he wanted to forget how her blood felt on his hands, he wanted to forget the emptiness he saw in her eyes, he wanted to forget the sound that Gladio made.

Ignis was beyond ready to wake up from this nightmare of a morning.

Still, he continued on, as he had to.

It was 7 AM when he arrived at the station. It was 7:05 AM when the tears Ignis finally allowed to fall hit the floor in Gladio’s office.


	2. Chapter 2

At noon that same day, after five grueling hours of remaining cordial with his coworkers despite simply wanting to run away and never look back, Ignis was sitting at a table in a homely cafe not far from the station, listlessly eating a sandwich and sipping coffee. He watched the milling citizens through the front window, almost all of them proceeding with life as if nothing had happened.

It was all so mundane. Even when he felt like the world should have stopped in mourning, it just kept spinning, his tragedy confined to just a few select people. Iris Amicitia was dead, but that was just a minor concern to the general public. People would remain cautious for the moment, trying to be more aware of their surroundings and where they were at whatever time to be sure that the same fate did not befall them. The caution would fall by the wayside, and everything would return to normal.

It made Ignis sick to his stomach, that the entire population wouldn’t be feeling the same loss that he was, even if that was a selfish thought. It felt so wrong for them to be able to move on so fluidly, to remain so distanced from it all, to remain so completely unaffected.

And then he realized the hypocrisy in his own thoughts. 

He was a detective. He reassured mourning families and tried to make sure those responsible for the crimes committed paid the appropriate price. They called him unflappable, even cold, as he tried his damnedest not to let any case affect him in too big of a way, apparently making it look effortless going by the comments he heard about how unfeeling he seemed. “Detached” looked to be his middle name.

For so long, it’s worked out for him. Only the worst cases got a reaction out of him – at least, a reaction down by the station – and even then it was subdued. Ignis refused to let himself get caught in the whirlwind of emotion that was mourning for a life already lost to the world’s insanity. Getting consumed by such raw feeling would deter him from his goal – finding the person responsible and getting them the appropriate sentence.

Now that Ignis was no longer in the driver’s seat of the situation, now that he was reacting instead of acting, all of the feelings he’d let build up under the pretense of an icy focus came crashing down. Now that Iris was dead, now that Ignis was the one that needed to be consoled, now that he could no longer remain so untouched by it all… Ignis barely had the energy to struggle with keeping up a calm demeanor, and everyone saw him as he felt – hurt and tired, put simply.

Ignis’ stomach was roiling, his appetite lost. He stiffly stood from his seat, tossing the remaining half of his sandwich and exchanging his cold coffee for a cup of ice water. He chewed on an ice cube as he exited the establishment, heading back to the station. There was work to be done, and he didn’t have time to linger so deeply in his thoughts.

It wasn’t much longer before Ignis arrived at his destination. He headed straight for his desk, clutching his little cup of water tightly as he felt himself being crushed underneath the suffocating atmosphere. Ignis didn’t fail to notice the looks his coworkers were giving him, and he certainly didn’t fail to ignore them. They needed to focus on their jobs, not on him.

Ignis plopped down in his chair, immediately opening and beginning to inspect the file that was left there for him. It looked fresh, the paper was even still a bit warm from the printer, but the biggest indicator had been the large, bold letters, “I. AMICITIA” printed across the front. Ignis heaved a sigh as he read through the general report and looked through the photos, forcing himself to keep his head on straight as he reviewed everything. He needed to focus if he was to get anything done.

Still… he chanced a glance at Gladio’s office, only to find the door closed, the shutters down over the window, and the lights off. Gladio, currently, was not here.

Right.

Once the news made it around the station, everyone had taken notice of Gladio diving headfirst into his work and not looking back. They figured it was best that Gladio take some time off, just to let things settle in and to let him mourn his loss without the pressure of the case looming over his head. Gladio had protested firmly, not even looking up from his paperwork until Ignis admitted that he agreed with their coworkers.

_“You’re going to run yourself ragged like this.” Ignis said, placing a gentle hand on Gladio’s tense shoulders. “Go home. I’ll – we’ll take it from here.”_

_Gladio seemed to be having a small mental war with himself before he finally acquiesced to Ignis’ request, turning a thankful, if not slightly miffed, red-rimmed gaze up at his long-time friend. “Only because you said so.”_

_Ignis raised a brow, allowing a smirk to pull at his lips. “Is that so?”_

_Gladio nodded, giving an affirmative grunt, then started to gather his things in preparation to depart. Ignis left his office with a final farewell._

Ignis pulled himself out of the brief memory, shaking his head. He scanned over the documents in front of him again, but his focus kept evading him, the words blurring on the page. Looking at the pictures and reading the report, he knew it was all too real, yet part of his mind refused to accept the notion. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the concept that he’d never get to cook alongside Iris again, or hear her laugh, or listen to her banter with Gladio, or hear the ping of his phone when she texted him to talk about some new fabric she’d seen at the market, or watch as she and Gladio fought over the last of a pile of pastries he’d baked–

Ignis huffed out a sigh, removing his glasses and holding his face in his hands. His throat burned and he could feel the sob rising, feel the shake beginning to crawl up to his shoulders, but he choked both sensations down, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Iris deserved his full attention, and he’d give her no less.

At least, that was the plan.

When he’d slipped his glasses back on, Ignis immediately noticed the figure looming over him: one of his coworkers, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. She gave him a rather sad look and placed her hand on his shoulder, just as he had done for Gladio earlier.

Her tone was as gentle as her touch. “Ignis, you should probably–”

“Head home,” he finished for her, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back in his chair. He removed his specs again before draping an arm over his eyes. Another sob threatened to escape him, completely unprovoked, and Ignis forced it down again.

“Yes.” she said, voice still soft, “You’re just as affected as Gladio is. You both need rest and time to recuperate. Head out, we’ll cover the case for now.”

Ignis remained still for a moment, weighed the costs and benefits of protesting, but he quickly gave up. He was so exhausted, the bone-deep tiredness of mourning lain over him like a blanket, and he wasn’t entirely sure mere rest would fix it. Still, it was worth a try. So Ignis relented to her demands, packing his belongings and robotically exiting the building and making his way to his car.

_Six_ , he felt so numb. He could only imagine how Gladio felt.

Ignis made it to his apartment with little fanfare, dropping his bag by the door and sinking onto the couch, staring blankly at the dark television screen across from him.

He remained there until his phone dinged and buzzed from his pocket. He recognized the tone as Gladio’s and reached for it, listlessly reading the text.

_GLADIO: How are things coming along?_

_IGNIS: I’m not sure_

There was a small pause before Gladio’s reply.

_GLADIO: They kick you out too?_

_IGNIS: It would seem so_

_IGNIS: How are you holding up?_

_GLADIO: Fine_

_IGNIS: Liar._

It took Gladio ten minutes to respond.

_GLADIO: Can I come over? Can’t stand being in this house any longer_

_IGNIS: Of course_

_GLADIO: Thanks. Be there soon_

Ignis nodded and put his phone away, then stood and made his way into the kitchen. “Soon” meant anywhere from twenty to thirty minutes, which should be just enough time for him to cook something up for Gladio to eat. Ignis worked under the assumption that the other man hadn’t eaten since he’d gotten the news, and knowing Gladio, his assumption was probably right.

Ignis planned on making something simple, just a vegetable stew, but when he took out a carrot and laid it on the cutting board, he was assaulted with memories of Iris standing next to him, poking him for answers to questions about whichever ingredient he was tending to at that moment, and then his hand was shaking too much to properly wield the knife and cut the carrots. The slices he’d made were crooked and uneven and entirely too large. Ignis sighed, setting his knife down and leaning against the counter. That plan was out the window.

Ignis resigned himself to setting some water onto the stove to boil so he could make two cups of noodles. He didn’t share Gladio’s degree of fondness for the meal (he doubted that anyone did) but he could admit that the noodles made a fine comfort food.

They both needed all the comfort they could get.

After Gladio arrived and Ignis had served the Cup Noodle, they sat on the couch in relative silence. Neither man touched his food very much.

Ignis was, frankly, startled when he tasted salt on his lips that he was sure hadn’t come from the cup, and then he realized that he was crying. The sobs that he’d barely managed to keep a lid on throughout his time at the station finally came bursting from him, breaking the already fragile silence that had settled over the room.

Hearing Ignis cry was the last straw for Gladio and the floodgates opened. Tears streamed down scarred cheeks in an endless river and Gladio let out a noise akin to the one he’d made on the phone earlier in the day. Ignis cried harder, and Gladio followed.

No words were exchanged; no words were needed. They simply mourned together for the loss of a little sister to the world’s insanity.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be real, I was really reluctant to post this here, since I wasn't sure it was actually gonna go anywhere... but so far, so good. I have a teeny trickle of ideas.


End file.
